


zero_sum

by LeFezWearingHusky



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: AU, Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Eventual Sex, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, It Gets Worse, M/M, Prostitution, this might not end well
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 18:44:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13840752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeFezWearingHusky/pseuds/LeFezWearingHusky
Summary: “I have a job for you, Mikado-kun.”“I want you to find someone named Kida Masaomi.”“And I want you to make him fall in love with you.”[AU. Mikida.]





	1. chapter_1

**Author's Note:**

> So, yeah. I've started writing fanfiction again, for better or worse. I happened to be looking through some older fics and I dredged this up, and thought the premise might be worth exploring. Anyways, I hope you enjoy what currently exists of this story and please tell me what you think of it, though I can't promise regular updates, as I am a lazy and disorganised little shit at the best of times.
> 
> There isn't any actual description of sex in what I've written thus far - the M rating exists mostly for the non-con element - but it will probably happen further down the line. There'll also be mentions of drug usage/abuse, alcoholism, violence and all that other good stuff, but again, most of it will happen later on.
> 
> Izaya might also be a little OOC in this fic; namely, he's even more of a bastard than he's depicted in the anime, so apologies for that.
> 
> Also, as a side note; all the chapter numbers are written in binary, so don't get confused if the chapter titles are weird. That's entirely my fault because I seem incapable of using ordinary chapter titles lately.
> 
> Anyway, I'll shut up now so you can read the story. See you on the other side.

**chapter_1**

 

Ikebukuro was just like any other city; it was plagued by a constant paradox.

 

It was both ordinary and extraordinary. It was vibrant, and yet it was colourless. Its scent alternated between the fragrance of freshly-cooked street food and the raw odour of miasmic sewage. It was two worlds in one; a glittering, many-eyed monstrosity by night and a subdued yet quietly brooding beast by day.

 

It was not a surprising fact, therefore, that many of the city’s inhabitants led double lives.

 

Ryuugamine Mikado considered himself to be among that number.

 

He threaded through alleyways cluttered with refuse and slalomed through the crowds thronging the pavement, walking briskly past the same grey faces of the featureless beings that appeared almost to merge with the city itself.

 

Crowds usually unnerved Mikado, so it was with relief that he dived into the next alleyway. This one was even less inviting than the last; a solitary streetlamp watched over the entire two hundred-metre stretch. Within its strobing pool of luminescence, intermittent shadows drifted; a bedraggled cat, a polyester supermarket bag drifting in the light breeze.

 

Mikado stepped across the pool’s threshold, stopped. He turned around rapidly, his gaze sweeping through the darkness wildly until it landed on a suspiciously familiar patch of tenebrosity.

 

“My, my, Mikado-kun. Your senses are definitely sharpening, and at a faster rate than I would’ve imagined… city life really does grow on you, doesn’t it?”

 

Mikado answered the rhetorical question with one of his own. “Why are you here, Orihara-san?” His perplexed tone gave away only subtle hints as to the terror he could feel broiling within his gut.

 

Those hints were not nuanced enough to escape the other man’s keen ears, however. As the slender frame of Orihara Izaya approached the light, Mikado could discern the trademark sickening smirk, curving upwards as it slowly widened. Mikado took an unconscious step backward.

 

“‘Orihara-san’?” the slender man repeated questioningly, melodrama spread lavishly onto his words. “So formal! Oh, my dear Mikado-kun, how it pains me to know that you still think of me as a mere acquaintance! Surely now, after everything we’ve shared together, I am worthy of being called your friend?”

 

“Please get to the point, Orihara-san.” He hadn’t meant the words to come out so bluntly, but after spending a year around this man, Mikado had learnt that if he was ever to obtain useful information out of Izaya, he would have to fight for it.

 

Izaya cocked his head in a fashion designed to induce irritation. “Whatever do you mean, Mikado-kun? Do you think that my very appearance must signify ill fortune? Do you not think that perhaps my only purpose for being here is to look out for your well-being?” Narrow shoulders shrugged beneath a furry hood. “You are, after all, a young and impressionable high-school student walking around on his own after dark in the big bad city. Who knows what unsavoury characters you could run into?”

 

Mikado suppressed a sigh. “Do you always have to act like you’re in some sort of budget movie?”

 

Izaya spread his arms placatingly. “Mikado-kun, I’ve told you before. Life _is_ a budget movie… The best budget movie, in fact! It’s a movie in which any one person can dramatically change the plot through their own will. Now, look at me and tell me that isn’t exciting!”

 

“Orihara-san, you’re wasting my time.” Mikado spoke clearly and plainly, in the politest tone he possibly could. He still wasn’t sure why he bothered with politeness, even at this point; was it fear? A sense of obligation? He supposed it didn’t really matter.

 

Izaya chuckled. The sound reverberated between the alleyway’s dirty walls. “Oh, my apologies, Mikado-kun. It’s always a pleasure to talk to you. The wonderful kaleidoscope of your responses… well, it seems to change each time I talk to you!” The man stepped forward, placing both hands against the centre of his chest. “Can you really blame me? I only wish to see every possible expression you can make upon that pretty face of yours.”

 

The blue-eyed boy felt his cheeks flush, and knew immediately that he had lost the battle of wills. He caved in, and in the process gave Izaya exactly what he wanted.

 

Mikado attempted, and then relented, to hide his cringe as the older man stepped smoothly over to him and slid an arm beneath his ribcage.

 

“I have a job for you, Mikado-kun.” Izaya’s slender fingers prised open Mikado’s right hand and set a piece of crinkled paper atop his palm before reclosing the boy’s fist over the scrap. “I want you to find someone named Kida Masaomi.”

 

Izaya’s hand snaked further around Mikado’s body so that it rested just above his navel. The man’s smirk widened as he felt the boy’s muscles tense against his fingers.

 

Mikado tried for his most demanding stare, but Izaya didn’t even seem to notice.

 

“And?” Mikado uttered expectantly.

 

“And I want you to make him fall in love with you.”

 

With that, Izaya suddenly unravelled his grip from Mikado and melted into the darkness, leaving no hint as to which direction he had taken.

 

Mikado, alone in the alleyway, shivered and tried to shake off the feeling of the other man’s unwarranted touch. He gritted his teeth and took a few short breaths before unwrapping the crinkled paper Izaya had given him.

 

As he had expected, it was a photograph, bleached of all colour by the lamplight. The boy in the picture seemed to be his age, with flamboyantly dyed blond hair and an equally flamboyant grin. Mikado, cautious, turned over the page.

 

Sure enough, it was Izaya’s notable scrawl, depicting a series of contact details; an address, e-mail and phone number, amongst others.

 

Mikado sighed in resignation and tucked the scrap into the back pocket of his trousers. He knew he should feel sorry for the guy, but he just couldn’t bring himself to.

 

Because if he did, he wouldn’t be able to do his job properly.


	2. chapter_10

**chapter_10**

 

Mikado was never truly certain if he had become desensitised to his current lifestyle or not. Although he acutely felt the numerous spots of pain that ran down his back, buttocks and upper thighs, each of them paled into insubstantiation when he remembered just how humiliating his situation was.

 

Staring into the shadowed clutter of the cramped room, Mikado wondered just how things had come to develop this way.

 

_ All I had ever wanted was to be extraordinary. _

 

But that, as Izaya had rather patronisingly told him, would have to come at a price.

 

Mikado slowly heaved himself up, taking care not to disturb the covers of the futon too much, and slipped into the cold air of the degenerated apartment. He could feel each vibration through the exposed hairs of his skin, but just to be sure, he glanced back down at the futon.

 

The man was pathetically bedraggled during sleep; his long, cannabis-infused hair splayed across his face and the stained pillow. His comatose state gave no hint as to his violent temperament, thanks to the numerous emptied bottles of booze that were now scattered across the room.

 

Mikado turned away. If only he were allowed to drink on the job. Perhaps his senses would dull so much that he would no longer be able to recall the experience.

 

He rooted through the room’s ubiquitous junk until he located the man’s trousers. He pulled the wallet out from deep within a pocket and was riffing through its contents when a sudden buzzing thrummed through the stagnant air.

 

The source was from Mikado’s jacket. The boy immediately pounced on the garment to stifle the sound, his gaze fixed all the while on the slumbering figure within the futon. Thank God he had decided to put his phone on silent earlier.

 

He begrudgingly dug out the device from within his jacket and immediately rejected the call. He knew who it was; no-one else would possibly call him at this inconvenient a time. Making a mental note to call the man back later, Mikado dropped the phone and went back to salvaging thousand-yen banknotes from his client’s wallet.

 

Barely three seconds had passed before the phone rang again.

 

Not wishing to take any chances, Mikado accepted the call this time and answered in a strained whisper. “Orihara-san, what is it? I’m dealing with a client at the moment.”

 

“Oh, sure, sure,” came the irritatingly playful tone. “Of course you are, Mikado-kun. Let’s see… is it Aoki-san by any chance?”

 

“Does it matter?” Mikado replied as he clutched the banknotes in his fist, careful not to make any telltale sounds. The info broker’s range of hearing through a mobile phone was near superhuman.

 

“I’m certain you wouldn’t have anything to do with it, dear Mikado-kun, but last I heard of him, Aoki-san had complained to me about a small incident of theft.” A pause. “And you know who got blamed for that in the end, don’t you?”

 

Mikado’s fingers dug into the phone’s plastic casing. “Look, Orihara-san… I can’t get by on the amount you give me each month. I can barely afford the rent.”

 

He could practically hear Izaya’s shrug over the phone. “Sorry, Mikado-kun, but there isn’t much I can do about that. A deal’s a deal.”

 

Mikado bit back the urge to argue and instead changed the subject. “What did you call me for?” It was difficult to keep his voice down whilst negotiating.

 

Izaya huffed childishly from the other end of the line. “Mikado-kun, you’re no fun at all!” he complained, though there was obvious laughter running beneath his words. “But, in any case, I suppose what I  _ really  _ want to know is… how’s the search for Kida Masaomi going?”

 

Mikado felt his blood freeze. He had forgotten completely, having been preoccupied with other clients whilst keeping up the pretense of his supposedly ordinary high school life. “Um, I’m working on it, yeah,” he muttered quickly. Too quickly. He had to cringe at how feeble his answer sounded.

 

Izaya tut-tutted. “You’re a terrible liar, Mikado-kun.”

 

The sentence petered off into a short string of rapid beeps. Izaya had hung up.

 

Mikado lowered the phone from his ear and sighed. Couldn’t Izaya let him catch a break, just once?

 

He had to shake his head at how inherently stupid that notion was. Izaya was completely devoid of empathy, and he existed for the satisfaction he gained from perpetuating human misery. He was barely human; in fact, he seemed more akin to a demon. The mere attribution of notions like kindness and tolerance to Orihara Izaya were simply laughable.

 

Mikado pulled on his clothes as quickly and silently as he could, slipping out the door with the stolen money and navigating the peeling wallpaper and disintegrating staircase of the apartment complex. He emerged into a weed-cracked courtyard and typical autumn weather. In response, he pulled his jacket tighter around his chest.

 

Having left the building, Mikado fished out the crumpled photograph from his trouser pocket. It had remained there, forgotten, for much of the past week. He frowned at the scribbled contact details on the flipside of the photo.

 

Which one of these would be best for making first contact? He knew nothing about the man, other than that he was blond, young and flamboyant. Mikado flipped onto the photo side again as he walked. He frowned. Could Kida perhaps be a high schooler? It seemed likely, but Mikado had no way of verifying it.

 

Either way, his approach would have to be unpretentious and unassuming, yet leave a lasting impression and give Kida some reason for wanting to contact him again. He only had one chance, and if he fucked it up, there was no doubt that he wouldn’t be receiving payment from Izaya for at least the next two months.

 

Mikado sighed, his breath forming a wintry wisp of condensation. He would think about that later. For now, he needed to get to school.

 

*****

 

The hallways of Raira Academy were crowded and lively as usual. And, as usual, they were giving Mikado a headache.

 

His feet made the automated journey up to the school’s rooftop, where - although it was still often packed and noisy - there was a least a little more space to go around. Mikado sat down on an empty bench and pulled out the bento box he had thrown together using a few spare ingredients in his fridge. The rice was slightly crunchy and he caught a vague whiff from the tuna, but it was more or less edible.

 

The horizon was just visible beyond the chain-link fence that surrounded the rooftop, punctuated as it was by the skyscrapers and high-rise apartments of inner-city Tokyo. Staring at it brought a strange sense of peace to Mikado, although it didn’t quite distract him enough to forget about his current situation.

 

“Has anybody told you how erotically cute you look?”

 

Mikado was pulled out of his reverie by that single comment. He turned around to see that, on the bench directly opposite, a blond-haired male student was casually chatting up the bespectacled girl beside him. The boy clearly thought he was just having fun, but from the way the girl awkwardly shifted and averted her gaze, she clearly saw it as harassment.

 

Mikado bit his lip. He had also been on the receiving end of such comments, though they were often from older men, usually drunk, and tended to focus on the “erotic” side of the spectrum as opposed to “cuteness”. The idea that this boy thought it appropriate to use both in one sentence confused Mikado. In his experience, the two were almost mutually exclusive.

 

As uncomfortable as the scene made him, Mikado didn’t see what he stood to gain from intervening, versus the quite possible risk of the blond boy threatening him with violence. Even at this distance, he could see that the other male was taller than him, and quite possibly stronger than him, as well.

 

Mikado made to turn away, but before he could, the blond boy happened to look up, and their eyes locked. The noirette had to force down a gasp.

 

It was Kida Masaomi.

 

Mikado quickly returned his attention to his lunch as though it were the most interesting thing in the world. He had to shove his hands between his legs to keep them from shaking. The situation had rocketed from a five on the scale of general awkwardness to well over one hundred.

 

He gritted his teeth. Above all things, he didn’t expect this.

 

But Izaya - goddamn Izaya! He probably knew about this, didn’t he? Of course he did. He probably thought of Kida as an easy catch, considering he was right in the very vicinity of his favourite pawn. Not for the first time, Mikado cursed the info broker for withholding the most important information from him.

 

“Hey.”

 

Mikado almost did a double take as he looked up and noticed Kida Masaomi standing over him.

 

The blond tried for a smile. “I wasn’t seriously flirting with her… just so you know.” He scratched the back of his head and averted his eyes apologetically.

 

Mikado swallowed. “...Okay,” he muttered hesitantly. He knew he would have to be careful about his choice of words. “Why… um… why are you so concerned?”

 

“Eh?” The other boy’s eyebrows rose in confusion. “I guess I was just worried that she might’ve been already taken, haha.” He ended his sentence with a somewhat forced chuckle.

 

It occurred to Mikado that he hadn’t seen Kida anywhere around the academy, despite having attended for almost a whole year. “I don’t think so,” Mikado murmured. “That’s… Sonohara-san, I think. She’s a bit of a loner…”

 

The blond’s face immediately brightened at that information. “Ah, I see! That means I could be the man to open up her guarded heart!” he proclaimed with a flourish.

 

Mikado smiled. “Yes, quite possibly.”

 

A moment of silence passed between the two, during which Mikado held his breath. He didn’t release it until Kida, presumably having taken the invitation, grinned and settled himself on the bench next to Mikado.

 

“Kida Masaomi,” he introduced, his hand placed somewhat theatrically over his heart. “I transferred here last week.”

 

“Really? Where from?” Mikado asked, intrigued.

 

Kida shrugged. “Oh, some rural town in Saitama. Very boring; hardly any cute girls.”

 

Mikado chuckled lightly. “As it happens, I’m from a rural town in Saitama as well.”

 

Kida blinked. “Seriously?!” he cried. “Man, that’s crazy! What a coincidence.”

 

“I guess.” Mikado grinned.

 

“So.” Kida leaned inward. “What do I call you then?”

 

“I’m Ryuugamine. Ryuugamine Mikado.”

 

Kida’s eyes widened. “Whoa! Is that seriously your name?”

 

Mikado had heard this line so often that he didn’t even comment on it; he merely nodded.

 

“Hmm.” Kida leaned in close, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinised Mikado’s features. “You sure you’re not some distant relative of the Emperor? ...I think I can see some resemblance…”

 

Mikado flushed at Kida’s proximity and attempted to angle himself out of the other’s reach - not an easy feat to accomplish. He laughed awkwardly. “No, not as far as I know -” he began, but was cut off as Kida’s fingers suddenly pinched over his nose.

 

“You’ve got his nose!” Kida announced triumphantly, before dissolving into peals of laughter as though it were the funniest concept known to mankind.

 

Despite how asinine the joke had been, Mikado found himself laughing as well. And, to his surprise, he found he didn’t even have to force it.

 

When was the last time he had genuinely laughed? He couldn’t remember.

 

At that point, all activity on the rooftop abruptly ceased as the bell tolled out its four-part tone. Kida sighed as he stood up.

 

“Well, I’ve gotta go. My maths teacher has a tendency to punish anyone who doesn’t arrive five minutes early.”

 

Mikado nodded detachedly. He was too busy thinking of planning his next course of action than concentrating on anything else.

 

“Um… would you be okay with meeting again, maybe sometime after school?” he asked, cautious to keep the expectancy out of his tone.

 

Kida looked back at Mikado and grinned. His teeth appeared to be self-illuminating. “Sure!”

 

The noirette watched Kida dash towards the building, breathing a sigh of relief only once the other boy was out of earshot.

 

He would be able to keep himself fed for another couple of months, at least.


	3. chapter_11

**chapter_11**

 

Two hours of History later, Mikado found himself pacing the Mathematics corridor from end to end repeatedly. He paused each time another student walked the length of the corridor, leaning against the nearest wall with hands-in-pockets nonchalance in an attempt to divert suspicion.

 

The longer he waited, the more fears he accumulated, building the pressure behind his eyeballs. Mikado absently rubbed his forehead. Aoki had been especially demanding last night, and in the end Mikado had barely managed to get a wink of sleep.

 

And this dilemma involving how best to deal with Kida Masaomi wasn’t exactly helping his headache.

 

Whilst pretending to be utterly captivated by his teacher’s slow, drawling lecture on the Meiji reformations, Mikado had been breaking down each of Kida’s behaviours, trying to gauge what sort of person he was and how best to approach him.

 

He had come across as carefree and sociable; and yet, at the heart of it all, he had seemed desperately lonely. Mikado knew those sorts of people. They were the most easily approached, and the most easily manipulated. Izaya probably thought that this job was almost too easy.

 

So was waiting like this the right choice? Appearing out of the blue was a tactic that Mikado had previously learned to avoid, but in this rare case he had an instinctual urge to carry it out. Perhaps Kida, in his desperate bid for friendship, wouldn’t think too much of it and instead simply show happiness at the fact that Mikado had remembered their lunchtime encounter.

 

A door across the corridor rolled open. Mikado looked up to see a stream of students trickle out, and waited, watching for the telltale blond.

 

As soon as he stepped out, he locked eyes with Mikado, and his face immediately broke into a wide grin.

 

Mikado breathed a silent sigh as Kida bounded over to him. It seemed as though his assumptions had been correct after all.

 

“Hey, Ryuugamine-kun!” the blond greeted, his voice as bright as his smile. “Thanks for waiting for me. You don’t know Yamashita-sensei, do you?” He grimaced theatrically, shaking his head. “This is the third time she’s made us do overtime, and now she’s gone up to a full fifteen minutes!”

 

“I can’t say I’ve ever been in one of her classes,” Mikado admitted. “Though I’ve heard she’s pretty strict -”

 

“She’s unbelievably strict!” Kida proclaimed, gesticulating wildly with his arms. As they fell, one hand clapped Mikado’s shoulder, causing the noirette to hitch involuntarily.

 

“O-oh, sorry,” Kida muttered, quickly withdrawing his hand and averting his gaze.

 

“No, no, no, don’t be,” Mikado consoled hurriedly, inwardly grimacing at his failure to hide his reaction. He scrambled to change the subject. “So, er, which way are you heading home? We could walk together if you want.” He threw in a smile with the proposal for good measure.

 

Kida’s smile stretched even wider than Mikado thought possible. “You’re seriously asking? Isn’t that the entire reason you wanted to meet me after school?”

 

Mikado shifted his gaze just slightly, blinking shyly. “I suppose so.”

 

The subtle shift in his demeanor resulted in the desired effect. Kida’s face positively exuded light.

 

_ This really is insanely easy,  _ Mikado reflected. It was so easy, it was starting to make him feel wary.  _ Why did Izaya send me after this guy? He doesn’t seem suspicious, but there must be something. Something that he’s keeping under wraps, something that would make Izaya interested in him in the first place. _

 

Mikado had never considered it his place to ask; Izaya was far too intimidating. But that didn’t stop him from wondering why the info broker took such an interest in the seemingly disparate people he sent Mikado after. Was it possible that they all formed part of something bigger and grander, that there were invisible gossamer threads connecting each of them that only Izaya could see? As an info broker, he probably knew more about those paper-fine associations than anyone else in Ikebukuro.

 

His train of thought was abruptly broken by a hand flapping in front of his face. “Hey, hey, Ryuugamine-kun… you’re standing in the road.”

 

Mikado blinked and stepped back. Sure enough, he’d inched off the pavement onto a busy main thoroughfare. He shook himself lightly; he’d been so deep in thought that he’d lost all awareness of the outside world. Not a good habit, especially in his line of work.

 

Kida just smiled his goofy smile. “Where were you? I think I lost you there for a minute.”

 

Mikado shrugged as casually as he could. “Nothing, really. Just… family stuff.”

 

Kida nodded in understanding. “I get you. What sort of family stuff?”

 

Mikado had been hoping Kida wouldn’t inquire, but the lie came as easily as if he had always known it. “Oh, it’s just… my mum’s been getting all up in my business lately. It’s all, ‘Have you done your homework? How are your grades? Are you studying each and every night? Why haven’t you got a part-time job yet?’” He raised the pitch of his voice comically as he attempted to emulate this fictitious version of his mother. He shook his head and added, “Y’know?”

 

Kida laughed; it was infectious, as Mikado found himself laughing too, unbidden. “Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. Parents, eh? They’re all the same.”

 

“Haha, yeah.”

 

Kida took a sudden turning and Mikado hesitated; home wasn’t that way. Without taking even two paces, Kida looked back.

 

“Something wrong?”

 

“...No, it’s just… My house is the other way…” He gestured weakly.

 

Home was a decrepit and filthy hovel by the edge of the railway in a neighbourhood inhabited mostly by rats, garbage, and even more unsavoury individuals. He never looked forward to returning there; but somehow, now, his aversion was stronger than usual. He hesitated.

 

Would it be considered a bit too forward for him to…? After all, they  _ had  _ only met just a few hours ago...

 

Kida, however, seemed to effortlessly pre-empt the question he was going to ask: “Would you like to come round my place?”

 

Quickly, Mikado scrambled to hide his relief. “Ah, um, that’d be great! If… if it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” He hoped that was a natural-sounding response. He’d never been in a position to get invited over to a friend’s house, so he had only instinct to rely on when choosing his words.

 

Kida chuckled. “‘Course not, Ryuugamine-kun. My parents are all the way in Saitama at the moment, they’re not gonna mind.”

 

Suddenly emboldened, Mikado surged to catch up with Kida. “You can call me Mikado, Kida-kun.”

 

Kida had a light grin on his face as he responded. “Alright, but only if you call  _ me  _ Masaomi. Wouldn’t make sense otherwise, would it?”

 

Mikado’s chest swelled; this was far faster than his usual pace, but boy, was it exhilarating. “Okay then, Masaomi-kun.” 

 

Masaomi.  _ Masaomi. _ It was a nice name; it felt comforting just saying it.

 

Masaomi led him through labyrinthine streets, through parts of the city he’d never before seen; a plaza adorned by a tall, jagged sculpture of coloured glass; a cafe with a helter-skelter running down the side. Masaomi didn’t bat an eyelid at these oddities, though Mikado barely give them much more than a cursory glance. He’d been in Ikebukuro a while; he’d seen weirder.

 

Masaomi’s house was in an apartment complex overlooking a wide expanse of parkground. It was a hike up to the twenty-fifth floor; Masaomi informed him cheerfully that the lift had broken down the day before and was still being repaired.

 

Upon entering the house, Mikado released a pent-up breath he hadn’t realised he was holding in. The rooms were small and the furnishings were sparse, but he felt safer here than he ever had in his own house. That feeling only lasted two seconds, however, before he remembered that Izaya knew exactly where this place was.

 

Still, at least there was a central heating system that actually worked.

 

Toeing his shoes off, he followed Masaomi into the only single bedroom, where he promptly dumped his school bag and unfurled himself across the duvet. He patted the bed next to him, beckoning Mikado to sit down.

 

Mikado obliged after throwing down his own bag next to Masaomi’s. The other boy was so close Mikado could feel his breath against his ear.

 

There was a pause that seemed to drift in the air above them for almost a minute. Then, Masaomi popped it open with a laugh.

 

“You know, it’s funny. The last time I invited a friend home, I must’ve still been in primary school.”

 

“Ha ha. Yeah. Me too, as it happens.”

 

Masaomi was grinning yet again. “It’s crazy how much we have in common. We’re both from small towns in Saitama, we go to the same school, we’re both loners - heck, even your mum sounds like mine.”

 

Mikado just smiled. The last part was a lie - his mum wasn’t like that at all, but the rest was uncanny enough. They were almost like adjacent puzzle pieces; similar yet complementary. That revelation must’ve given Izaya no small amusement.

 

“Anyway,” Masaomi began, Mikado almost falling off the bed as the blond shifted his weight on it, “would you like something to eat? I should have some instant ramen left in cupboard.”

 

Instant ramen. The true staple food of students that lived alone. Mikado nodded his assent and Masaomi all but rolled off the bed.

 

Once Masaomi was out of eyeshot, Mikado got up. Even though he was genuinely glad to have an excuse to stay away from home, this was, first and foremost, a reconnaissance mission. He had to find out how this guy ticked. And now that he was in his house, it was the perfect opportunity to mine for titbits.

 

He scanned the shelves, which were mostly dusty and bare, littered with balled-up receipts and other assorted rubbish. A few cheap paperbacks and a couple of textbooks. Though there was one thing that caught his interest; a piece of what looked to be scrap fabric, a dull mustard-yellow colour. Mikado gingerly touched it. There was a patch where the fabric darkened to an ugly brown - an old bloodstain. Whatever it was, the thing was well-worn, and presumably pretty old.

 

It reminded him of something; one of Izaya’s so-called ‘urban fairytales’. The streets of Ikebukuro were once terrorised by two notorious ‘colour gangs’; the Blue Squares and the Yellow Scarves. True to their name, the Yellow Scarves always sported a piece of yellow fabric upon their person.

 

But the Yellow Scarves had disbanded more than a year ago; so if Masaomi had ever been involved with them at all, then he must’ve been lying about having moved to Ikebukuro only last week.

 

_ Hmm.  _ Well, that was certainly an interesting piece of evidence. He continued to scour the room, even peeking under Masaomi’s bed and in his desk drawers, but there was nothing he found that was at all unusual; most of it was either pornography or old bits of packaging.

 

_ But hold on… wait a minute.  _ There was a thick layer of dust covering the shelves and the junk under the bed, whilst the top of his desk and his laptop were both completely spotless. It was far more dust than a mere week of residence could account for. Now, Mikado was absolutely certain Masaomi had been lying.

 

_ But… why? Could it be to do with the Yellow Scarves? No… that’s not a good enough reason, because no-one talks about the colour gangs anymore. Nobody cares. So there’s got to be something else. There’s another piece to this puzzle, somewhere... _

 

He doubted he would find it in this room, however, and he wasn’t certain how Masaomi would react if he caught him snooping around his house. So Mikado stayed put, spreading himself across the bed nonchalantly until Masaomi returned.

 

He sat up as he heard the bedroom door creak open. “Here.” Masaomi proffered a steaming pot of instant ramen and a pair of disposable chopsticks. Mikado took them gratefully and swiftly began to tuck in - lunch had been almost four hours ago, now.

 

He heard the telltale hiss of gas escaping behind him and turned to see Masaomi with two six-packs of beer cans stacked in his lap. Mikado immediately feigned surprise.

 

“How… did you get those?” he murmured.

 

Masaomi smiled; even in this context, it looked innocent. He casually held up a plastic card. “Fake ID, works every time. You go in, he asks, ‘You’re a bit short for eighteen, aren’t you?’ and then you say, ‘Nope, I am but a humble baby-faced university student.’” He chortled, and Mikado found himself laughing along. “Anyway. Want one?”

 

Mikado took the offered can, carefully balancing it between his fingers. He didn’t really much like alcohol - mainly because he associated it with senseless violence - but he thought it best to play along with whatever his client desired. That  _ was  _ his job, after all.

 

Out of habit, he made sure to pace himself. It had been one of his first lessons; don’t make yourself any more vulnerable than you need to. Always try to stay more sober than the other guy, else it like as not won’t end well for you.

 

In this case, it was easy. It rapidly became apparent that Masaomi was a total lightweight; after only two cans he appeared to be somewhat struggling, and after three more he was completely gone.

 

He was an affable enough drunk, however - not at all like the sketchy thirtysomethings that Mikado was paid to meet in bars. Masaomi told bizzare anecdotes through mainly wild gestures and the occasional drawled-out sentence. His cheeks were acutely flushed, almost glowing in the growing dimness of the room.

 

Mikado looked over at the other boy. His brown eyes, though hazy with the amount of alcohol he’d consumed, still shone brightly. His smile was relaxed and happy as he described his last unfortunate encounter with a cute girl (unfortunate for him, not so much for the girl). Then, after trailing off mid-sentence, he began inching with drunken deliberation over the bed towards Mikado.

 

He was careful not to let anything show on his face, but the noirette was instantly wary. Masaomi moved sluggishly forward before half-collapsing against Mikado’s body, winding his arms around the other’s middle and pulling him into the blond’s lap. Masaomi’s grip was not strong; Mikado knew he could break out of it easily. That thought alone gave him some comfort, even though he knew it would probably break his mission if he were to do so.

 

Masaomi’s breath tickled the soft skin below his earlobe, where the blond swiftly planted a kiss. Mikado allowed Masaomi to trace the curvature of his neck with his lips and tongue, suppressing a shiver when the blond rubbed against the rough hickey that Aoki had given him the previous night. Other than that, he barely felt a thing.

 

The blond’s hands moved intoxicatedly up and down Mikado’s torso, frequently venturing beneath the folds of his school shirt but exploring no further. Masaomi’s touch was sloppy and clearly inexperienced, but gentle - relaxing, almost. Or perhaps that was just the feeling of the beers he’d drunk finally entering his system.

 

“Mikado-kun… you…” Masaomi murmured sleepily into Mikado’s shoulder, seemingly too inebriated to finish the sentence. At that point, it occurred to Mikado that reciprocal action might not be a bad idea.

 

He shifted slightly without loosening himself from Masaomi’s hold; just enough to allow him space to loop an arm around the blond’s neck and plant a kiss in the centre of his forehead. Masaomi smelt and tasted of body spray and shampoo underlined faintly by sweat; it was a typical adolescent odour, but in comparison to some of Mikado’s previous clients it was by no means unpleasant.

 

Masaomi responded by shifting his own weight so that the smaller boy was pinned beneath him. Mikado still gauged that he could easily shove Masaomi off if he felt so inclined, but in that moment the blond’s face had become suddenly inscrutable, his eyes clouded with… was it desire? Hatred? Vengeance?

 

It was the fact that he couldn’t tell that scared him; the first time he’d felt genuine fear in Masaomi’s presence since meeting him. He waited with bated breath, preparing himself for whatever was to come.

 

Masaomi appeared first to rear up, but then just as quickly slumped jerkily forward, landing heavily on Mikado’s chest and driving all the air from his lungs.

 

After catching his breath, Mikado angled slightly so he could see the other boy’s face. Masaomi was undoubtedly asleep, or otherwise incredibly good at feigning it.

 

Either way, Mikado could see no real reason at that point why he shouldn’t get some shut-eye himself. He’d slept very poorly last night - as indeed he did on most nights - and for once, he was on a bed that was actually halfway comfortable.  _ It’s always good to count your blessings,  _ he told himself.

 

He threaded his fingers through the thick, dyed strands of Masaomi’s hair and drifted off, allowing the foreboding feeling that had been building inside of him to dissipate into the far corners of his unconscious mind.


End file.
